


SKIP

by space_dev



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety Disorder, Asexual Panromantic Christine Canigula, Autistic Christine Canigula, Bisexual Jenna Rolan, Bisexual Jeremy Heere, Bisexual Rich Goranski, Canon Jewish Character, Character with ADD, Everyone Has Issues, Everyone Is Gay, F/F, Gay Michael Mell, Guilt, Happy Ending (maybe), Heavy Angst, Lesbian Chloe Valentine, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Pansexual Brooke Lohst, Pansexual Jake Dillinger, Post-Squip, Road Trips, Saving the World, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Social Anxiety, Spooning, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Trans Jeremy, Trans Male Character, angst & fluff, stomach flu, throwing up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-06-19 15:57:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15513348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/space_dev/pseuds/space_dev
Summary: What is a SKIP, you may ask?...first, you might want to rethink asking.Second, children should stop voring Japanese drugs, even though this time, it technically wasn't their fault.





	1. Jellybeans and the Amazon Devil

"Close your eyes, Jeremy."

"Why?" Jeremy asked, though he did screw his eyes shut as asked.

"It's your turn to try a jellybean," Jenna answered, grabbing his hand, putting something in, and closing it. "Eat it and guess what colour it is."

Jeremy popped it in, opened his eyes, and grimaced. "Definitely white and yellow. Popcorn flavour."

Jenna's mouth dropped open. "How'd you get it that fast?"

"Sixth grade, Michael dared me to make a popcorn-jellybean and mayo sandwich for lunch one day and eat it all. I swore off jellybeans for a year, and popcorn ones forever. I'll never forget the taste."

"That sounds traumatic," Jake commented.

Jeremy nodded sagely. "It scarred me for life."

"Guys!" Christine screeched, plopping down between Jeremy and Rich with her Dear Evan Hansen lunch bag that her mom had made her for Christmas last year. "Falsettos is coming to Wilson Theatre!"

"Really?!" Jeremy squeaked.

"Yes! They announced their 2018-2019 season today!"

"What else did we get?"

"Hold on, I screenshotted the page on the bus, lemme find it," Christine said, tapping in her passcode.

"You two are utter dorks," Michael said.

"I prefer the term 'drama kids,' Michelangelo," Jeremy shot back.

"Okay, we also got Anastasia, On Your Feet, freaking Fiddler on the Roof, we should take everyone to that, Les Mis, everyone's going to that to since that one's free if you go to three other shows, The King and I, and Jersey Boys."

"Miss Saigon?" Jeremy asked hopefully.

Christine shook her head. "Nope, Miss Saigon went to Kelsey Theatre in Trenton. I was really hoping for that one, BUT we did get Falsettos and Les Mis and Fiddler! And Anastasia!"

"Too bad. But that's a solid season, in my opinion."

"Right? My mom always buys season tickets, and season ticket holders get two free shows or one free show for a group of 7 or more, so we can take everyone to either see Fiddler or Les Mis. Or, Falsettos."

"I vote Les Mis," Chloe said.

"You don't get a vote, it's my season tickets," Christine replied.

"So you'll just drag me to whatever show you and Jeremy decide will wreak the most havoc on my already unstable heart?"

"Yes," Jeremy and Christine said simultaneously.

"You two are evil," Chloe said.

"Evil theatre maniacs," Jenna added.

"Poor unfortunate souls," Jeremy sung quietly.

Christine jumped onto the table. "SO SAD! BUT TRUE!" she shrieked.

"Get down, Ursula, or I'm calling the Sea Police," Rich said.

Christine, unfazed by Rich's warning, continued the song, until a lunch lady shouted to her to get off the table, and once she was back, he put his arms on the table and plopped his head into them before groaning for a good twenty seconds.

"You okay, Jer?" Michael asked, rubbing Jeremy's back.

"I think I'm coming down with something," Jeremy said, his voice muffled by the sleeves of his cardigan. "I feel nauseous and shitty. Plus, they took In The Heights off of Amazon Music."

"And this happened between the Falsettos freakout and now?" Brooke asked.

"You should use Spotify, Jeremy, it's a little more expensive but it's worth it," Christine pointed out.

"Plus, Amazon is run by a literal devil man. Why support that motherfucker?" Chloe added.

"The Amazon Devil," Brooke suggested, making Michael snort.

"Nah. I'm just used to hiding these things," Jeremy said honestly. "And I would, Christine, but my dad is an Amazon Prime user and he gets Amazon Music even cheaper, and he and I share it, so if I wanted Spotify, I'd have to pay for it, and I'm kinda broke."

"Never in a million years would I have expected you to admit that to anyone, Jeremy," Michael commented, still rubbing Jeremy's back. "Also, you need to throw up? Nurse's office, maybe?"

"Nah, I'm good for now, just nauseous, not throw-y up-y, at least not yet," he said.

"Try not to be until you get home, okay? Actually, I'll drive you home, if you promise not to throw up everywhere," Michael offered.

Jeremy nodded.

"So, Michael, what's up with you?" Rich asked.

"Well, I ordered a 12-pack of Beverly a couple days ago, I think it'll arrive today, so I'll bring a couple cans tomorrow," he said.

"Beverly? As in, Beverly Cleary?" Brooke asked.

"Oh god, that was my childhood," Jenna said.

"Same, Ellen Tebbits was my favourite," Christine said. "I think she's still alive, too."

"Is she?" Jeremy asked, lifting his head up slightly.

"Hold on, let's see if the wifi wants to work today," Christine said. A couple seconds later, she whispered a cry of delight and her fingers flew over the screen. "Yes, she's still alive, she's one hundred and two years old."

"Jesus, that's ancient," Jake said.

"Beverly Cleary is cool, but I'm talking about an Italian Coke product, discontinued in 2009, now only available at tasting stations in World Of Coke museums, Club Cool at Epcot and the Coca-Cola Store at Disney Springs."

"Oh, it's that stuff! Wasn't it supposed to be really bitter?" Christine asked.

"Yeah, it was, like, grapefruit flavoured or something, and everyone knows that grapefruit is bitter and gross," Michael answered.

Jake gave Michael an offended look and put a hand over his heart. "How dare you! Grapefruit is amazing!"

"Yeah, and if you cut it in half, you can scoop it out and have a quick and healthy breakfast before school and eat the other half the next day," Jeremy added.

"Same here," Brooke said.

"Your opinion doesn't count, Brooke, you're a runner, runners eat all sorts of weird things," Jenna said. "Besides, usually, you have a protein shake for breakfast."

"I thought you ate normal people food, Brooke," Christine said, a little confused.

"Jenna's talking about the time she and Chloe came to a marathon I was running to see me finish, they situated themselves at the last aid station to see me come in, then escort me with the car to the finish. I downed like, two cups of pickle juice in front of them, and I've never lived it down."

"They drove you to the finish?" Michael asked.

"No, they just drove next to me and blasted music as I ran the last two miles."

"Why pickle juice?" Asked Rich.

"It helps with cramps and besides that, the salt in it is good when you're running a long way. But apparently, Miss 'I Thought It Was Gatorade' Rolan doesn't understand that."

"What did she think was Gatorade?" Jake asked.

"The pickle juice. She saw I was drinking it, and asked the girl running the aid station if she could have some. She said yes, she drank it. And now, she thinks she can pretend that that never happened and the funniest story of the day was when I drank pickle juice."

"You swore never to tell anyone that story, Brooke!" Jenna cried.

"I swore not to tell anyone on a marathon brain, Jenna."

"Fuck you," Jenna moaned.

"I'm taking that as a compliment, so thank you," Brooke smirked.

Jenna opened her mouth, probably to retort, but the bell rang, and Rich loudly said, "You can think of something clever to say later, Jenna! It's time for that test in US History!" Before grabbing Jenna by the arm and bolting out the cafeteria and down the hall.

Everyone else collected their bags a tiny bit slower but nonetheless hurried to class, since they'd all had taken that US History test either first or second period. Not to say that they weren't worried about their grades, since the test was the last one before winter break, even though there were still 18 days before that.

-

Jeremy was walking down Parkridge Lane when he heard a car honk behind him, and he turned around to see Michael's P.T. Cruiser pull up, and the window roll down.

"Need a ride, Heere?"

Jeremy walked around the front and got in the passenger seat, wincing a bit at the volume that Bob Marley was currently playing at inside, and as he buckled up, Michael turned it down.

"You know, when someone says that they're driving you home, it's customary to wait for them to pick you up," Michael commented.

Jeremy was quiet, and he rested his head on the window, savouring the coolness that came from it.

"Rough day?" Michael asked.

"Not bad, just... not great. I mean, Falsettos coming to Wilson Theatre is great and all, plus Fiddler and Les Miserables, but I feel shitty and I didn't take any Xanax this morning. I took it last night before bed, to see if that would work so I wouldn't have to remember to take it in the morning but of course it didn't and I couldn't take any in the morning. Sorry."

"That was stupid, but it's okay. You'll be fine. You can go to bed early tonight and take it in the morning."

"No, remember, my dad's going on that ten-day business trip tomorrow, we're having dinner together since he'll be gone so long."

"Well, you can go to sleep after that, and if you wake up sick, you won't have to worry about your homework."

Jeremy gave him a Look. "I always do most of my homework the night before and the rest in the bus, Michael. That system is working beautifully for me, I'm not gonna disrupt that."

"Suit yourself."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO this is kinda a big project and I have nothing prewritten and I'm still kinda planning it out but it's gonna be a wild ride, folks, so strap yourselves in.
> 
> Wilson Theatre's season is loosely based on the season at not my local theatre, but the one in the nearest big city. We got On Your Feet, Fiddler, Miss Saigon, A Bronx Tale, The Play That Goes Wrong, Anastasia, School Of Rock and Hello Dolly, plus Phantom as an add-on, PLUS it's getting Hamilton next year.


	2. Radio Silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeaaah this is v overdue sorry kids
> 
> Very big emetophobia warning for this chapter.

Jeremy awoke to a headache, a stomach that felt to be made of jello, and the notion to bolt for the toilet, which he did, emptiying out his dinner from last night and that protein bar that Brooke had left over here that he'd eaten as a midnight snack.

He didn't realise his dad had followed him into the bathroom until he was rubbing his back as he continued to retch until it was just dry heaving. His stomach had now completed Level One of Winter Cleaning. Level Two, still to come.

"I'll call you in sick, sport," his dad said, and it was all Jeremy could do to nod and prop his head up by putting his arms on the toilet seat.

When his dad came back, he'd curled up on the bath mat. He wasn't throwing up anymore, but he felt pretty awful, and still extremely nauseous, so it was best to stay here anyway.

His dad had brought the defending player some ammo- his Xanax, a glass of water, some medicine for his fever, and a choice- a bowl so he could hang out in his bed, or a pillow and blanket so he could rest in here.

Jeremy chose to stay in the bathroom, and was rewarded for his smart choice with his Phantom of the Opera throw (courtesy of Christine) and two pillows, as well as his laptop and phone.

He didn't check his phone or open up his laptop, instead he hunkered down, said goodbye to his dad, (who was heading to the airport to leave on a twelve-day business trip, which he wouldn't have done unless it was absolutely necessary, which it was) and went to sleep.

He woke up a couple hours later for Level Two, which his stomach lost, since he hadn't eaten anything, and it'd used up all it's ammo for Level One. He went back to sleep, and spent the rest of the day like that; sleeping, heaving, repeat.

By six in the evening, his stomach had given up on trying to make him throw up and everything had settled, the nausea had receded, and Jeremy had felt okay enough to stumble down to the kitchen and make some toast.

Meanwhile, he finally checked his phone. Five texts from Michael, two from his dad, three from Christine and Brooke, two from Chloe, seven from Rich, but all of Rich's were memes, so he prioritised the others.

He responded to his dad first, then Michael, saying that he hadn't been in school because stomach flu, and pretty much the same to Christine and Chloe, sent some emojis in reaction to Brooke's 'stealth' picture of Christine wearing her giant red reading glasses (captioned 'U dated this four-eye?? lol,') and sent Rich the 'what the fuck Richard' Vine.

All in a day's work.

He managed to keep the toast down and texted his dad that he probably wouldn't need him to call him in sick again from Mississippi, and retrieved his blanket and pillow and promptly went to bed.

* * *

 

The next morning, he felt fine, so it must've just been a 24-hour bug, so he grudgingly got dressed and ready for the day, and even felt good enough to brave the bus.

Once onboard the great yellow cheese, he checked his phone, finding.... oddly enough, no notifications from the group chat, or texts from his friends. A text from his dad, yes, but otherwise, radio silence from his friends.

So he decided to log onto the group chat and figure out what the fuck was going on, since he received at least fifty text or group chat notifications on any given day, including the slower ones.

**jeremYYy has been blocked from the group chat: the price is very wrong, linda, have a free car.**

**online: golandaC, lesbiaN, space-brookie, Richest, gayest, Leggiest, canadian_pineapples**

What in the _shit_.

He frantically texted Michael, Brooke, Chloe, Rich, and Jake, and then Jenna and Christine, no answers.

He reluctantly climbed off the bus when it pulled up, and continued spamming his friends with the same copy pasted message: what in the FUCK is going on?!

And it should be said, his spamming was responded with... well, there were no answers.

In first period English, Mrs. Rodriguez announced that they would be doing oral presentations, and partnerships were allowed, up to groups of three, but not mandatory. Instantly, Jeremy turned around to Brooke, momentarily forgetting his frustration at his friends. He'd paired up with her in this class before, to fruitful results.

But Brooke had turned around in _her_ seat, too, and was asking the girl behind her, Jo Parker, and the girl next to Jo, Jessica-Amanda Rose Walker, to partner up, and Jeremy caught both Jessica-Amanda and Jo's agreements.

Next class, chemistry, everyone sat in groups of two because 92% of the time you'd need a partner in Ms. Kat's class, and Jessi Addams and Gordon Evans had agreed to sit together so Jeremy and Jake could too, but now, Jessi was back in her old seat next to Jake, and he had Gordon, smelly Gordon, for chemistry. Before class, he tried to talk to Jake, but it was radio silence from him, so much so that it seemed Jake didn't even _see_ him.

The next two periods had similar situations, and by lunch, Jeremy was ready to riot. He bought his lunch as always, and slammed it down on the group lunch table and started to plop down, but realised that Michael's backpack and hoodie were in his spot.

This was _especially_ weird, since their backpacks always went _under_ the table, and if Michael took off his hoodie during lunch, he'd either sit on it or put it on the floor with his backpack. Never did any of them ever put their shit on the lunch benches.

He shoved the stuff to the ground and plopped down angrily as he'd planned, and then he realised.

Nobody was _looking_ at him.

Nobody seemed to give any signs that they even knew he was _there_.

Hell, Michael even said "Oops," when Jeremy shoved his stuff to the floor and tried to put it back, bumping against Jeremy's body as he tried to set it down, like he wasn't even _there_.

"Why isn't it working, Lucy? Is someone there?" Michael asked.

Okay, that was it. That was fucking _it._

"This isn't funny, cut it the _fuck_ out!" Jeremy cried, slamming his hands on the table, even choking on his words a little. Okay, more like a lot.

No answer, no eyes turned his way.

Jeremy spent his lunch choking down spaghetti that tasted more like sawdust and trying to calm the lump in his throat and not cry. Nobody said a word to him.

Nobody said a word to him the rest of the day.

Nobody said a word to him the next _three_ days.

Just radio silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Stephanie Hsu with glasses is a THING and it's ADORABLE?? https://i.pinimg.com/236x/f4/c3/98/f4c39845a8a5c07833f5cc0ed38d683f.jpg
> 
> \- This chapter is kinda filler and it kinda stinks but it really picks up next chapter, promise! 
> 
> \- I tried to type 'more' and first it got autocorrected to 'Moreno' and then 'More.' Thank you, BMC, for doing this to my keyboard, but I guess it isn't the weirdest thing it does. Hell, sometimes I still get autocorrected to 'emojigone,' a phrase an old roleplay character of mine used often, back in my roleplay days. Pretty sure it meant crazy or insane, not entirely sure tho.
> 
> \- Chat name index:
> 
> jeremYYy - Jeremy 
> 
> golandaC - Christine
> 
> lesbiaN - Chloe
> 
> space-brookie - Brooke
> 
> Richest - Rich
> 
> gayest - Michael 
> 
> Leggiest - Jake
> 
> canadian_pineapples - Jenna


	3. Judy Garland and The Great Explanation

Jeremy wanted to run, but he couldn't budge. Something was keeping him pinned down.

He gasped as he realised. The Squip, of course. Who else? _What_ else could it be?

Michael appeared over him and tried to help him up, but it didn't work. It was like his limbs were full of lead.

"I wonder why I even tried to help you, Jeremy, after all you've done," he said, dropping his lead-arm, and punched him in the nose.

Jeremy gasped as blinding white pain filled his sinuses, and felt warm sticky liquid trickle down his face.

"I could kill you now, but I'll just let you starve to death or let the SQUIP kill you. I hope you're proud of yourself, Jeremy Heere."

"Michael.."

"Michael!" Jeremy gasped, sitting straight up in bed.

No Squip, but his scars were burning, searing into his skin. Not that it wasn't normal for them to do that, especially after a nightmare like that.

Michael...

He didn't hesitate to grab his phone off the nightstand and dial Michael.

Then he remembered.

Michael hadn't spoken to him in four days.

Plus, it was 3 AM. No sane person would answer the phone that early.

Including Michael. It went right to voicemail.

"This is Michael. I can't come to the phone right now, but if it's the zombie apocalypse or someone's dead or dying, keep calling, I'm probably just asleep or playing video games. Leave a message at the tone."

_Beeep._

"Michael... I know that you and everyone else are probably really really angry at me, and I probably screwed up really bad. But I honestly don't know what I did, and I feel awful," Jeremy choked, taking in a sharp breath before continuing.

"Please, just tell me what I did. Be angry and yell, don't act like I'm not there! It's hurting me, Michael, this ignoring thing, and... I had a nightmare. I know, I'm being a wimp by not handling it myself, but... please, Michael, just call back. Or punch me in school. Or something. Just stop ignoring me. I'm sorry."

_Beeep._

He hung up and set his phone down. He still had about an hour to try and sleep. Normally he wouldn't have bothered, because he'd feel like shit when he actually got up after having to wake up from a deeper sleep, but he was low on that sleep shit anyway. Might as well.

* * *

 

Jeremy didn't know why the _fuck_ he thought this was gonna be a good idea.

He was rolling an unopened can of Mountain Dew between his sweaty, clammy hands, sitting on his front porch.

It was day four of the Great Ignoring Jeremy Incident, and it didn't seem like they were going to relent and talk to him. Michael didn't show any signs of having heard his voicemail, and hey, he didn't punch him, so that was relieving in an odd way, but he would take a few broken ribs for a chance to get Michael and the rest of his friends back.

Just like he would take abuse to get to the bottom of this. To get them back.

As much as he wanted his friends back, he couldn't bring himself to open the soda. It was like when he was seven and he'd gotten involved in a heated game of Junior Truth or Dare, and everyone had been daring everyone to jump off the top of the climbing tube in the little kids section of the playground, and everyone had done it, no sweat.

"Jeremy, truth or dare," Sofia asked excitedly, rocking back and forth.

"Dare," he said.

"I dare you to jump off the tube," she said with a beaming but dastardly smile.

He walked over to the section where the tube was, and climbed on top. No sweat. He sat down on it, planning to just slide off. It was less than five feet down, anyway.

He scooched to the edge and looked down at the ground.

He wasn't that high up. He'd be fine.

And yet, he couldn't seem to scooch the rest of the way down.

He couldn't.

He didn't feel scared, not like he was usually scared. Whenever he felt scared, he usually felt his heart beating hard.

Which it was.

Okay, maybe he was scared.

"C'mon, Jeremy, do it!" Sofia cried.

He scooched a little further, but he still couldn't seem to fall off like he was supposed to.

He knew what was coming, probably just some mulch stuck to his knees, or a slight pain in his feet if he stuck it, but he just couldn't make himself go over the edge.

He couldn't. It was so close, yet so far. He could do it, he really could, but... 

Luckily, he didn't have to jump off that tube.

"Target: Inanimate, accessible. Calibration in process. Please excuse some minor discomfort."

Ah, burning pain from both his scars and head? Nice to see you again.

"Calibration complete. Access procedure initiated."

Next thing he knew, he was sprawled out across his porch, getting some weird looks from passing joggers.

Everything fucking _hurt_ , but since he'd passed out during the access procedure, he'd missed the worst of it.

"Jeremy Heere, welcome to Richard Goranski's Super Quantum Unit Intel Processor. His, now your SQUIP." A clear female voice with a slight accent that sounded British but not quite cut through the pain.

"What in the _shitting_   _fuck_?"

"Jeremy, I'm sure that your SQUIP went over the whole don't talk to me out loud thing. Please just think at me," she said kindly, and he saw a pair of knees in loose grey pants, and a hand extend to help him up.

He couldn't take it, of course, his hand would go right through hers, he knew that much, but he grabbed on in his mind as she'd wanted, and let her pull him up. Not quite controlling him, just a suggestion to his muscles. He still didn't really like it, though.

He looked up at the face of his - Rich's - Squip.

She had wide-set brown eyes, pale skin, short curly red hair pulled back with a grey headband, and thin red eyebrows. She wore a pair of high-waisted grey pants, a long-sleeved blue men's shirt, and brown oxfords.

Damn, no wonder Judy Garland was a gay icon.

"So you're Rich's Squip, huh?" Jeremy asked in his head.

"Yep. This is the form I used with him. Of course, you can change me to any form you wish, including to the form of your old SQUIP, if it would make you more comfortable."

"No, thanks, this is fine, I guess."

"If you're sure," Judy shrugged. "Anyway, I must explain what's going on. Go inside, lock the door, and go up to your bedroom. You will be most comfortable there."

"I think my Squip ruined me for taking orders from tiny computers," Jeremy sneered.

Judy sighed. "Just go inside, Jeremy. This is serious."

Jeremy sighed himself and walked inside, locked the deadbolt, and jogged upstairs and plopped down on his desk chair.

"Alright, shoot. Do you know why they're ignoring me?"

"There is a 92.8 percent chance you would be more comfortable on your bed.."

"Just talk to me, lady. Is it about why they're ignoring me?"

Judy sighed again. "Yes, it is. It's not Rich's fault, or Michael's, Christine's, none of them are at fault here."

"Then what is it?"

Judy took a deep breath (or made a sound like one, seeing as she was a computer and didn't need to breathe.) "It's called a SKIP."

* * *

 

"It's called a what?"

"A SKIP. Super Killer Intel Processor. A new generation of SQUIP, this one injestible in the form of a powder. The Killer part of the name is just a placeholder for Q and Quantum, it's not killing anybody, unlike those new IPhones.

The SKIP must be taken with Beverly, a grapefruit-flavoured Coke product, a non-alcoholic apéritif, that was produced by The Coca-Cola Company for the Italian market, introduced in 1969. Following ongoing product consolidation in the Italian market, Beverly was discontinued in 2009."

"That stuff Michael was talking about at lunch a couple days ago?"

"Indeed. The cans he bought were each individually infected with a full packet of SKIP powder."

"So they all have SKIPs, now?"

"Indeed, but not quite. The SKIP they have are SKIPSMV, Super Killer Intel Processor, Special Mission Variant. When you first get a SQUIP, you initially mistrust it, and the SQUIP attempts to win over your trust. That's Stage One," Judy explained. "Stage Two, the SQUIP is quickly gaining your trust, a growing stage. Stage Three is when it has your full trust, Stage Four is when the host panicks and wants the SQUIP out.

This stage usually lands the hosts in mental hospitals or dead. If the host survives Stage Four, then there is Stage Five, where the SQUIP can basically take over for the person entirely. The SKIP speed along that process, and the SKIPSMV basically go through those stages in a matter of mere minutes, so they can accomplish their mission without interference from the host."

"So, what's the mission?"

"To spread the SKIP. Chloe Valentine is going to host a Christmas party, and release the SKIPs in the drinks there. Those people, in turn, will infect their parents, teachers, and just like that," Judy snapped her fingers, "The whole world has been taken over."

"So, then, how'd you get here?"

"I temporarily overpowered Rich's SKIPSMV, drawing the energy from it to power myself, and forced him to get drunk, malfunctioning me enough so I could latch on to you and plant myself in the mechanism of your old SQUIP. Your old SQUIP cannot reactivate now unless I leave, but I believe neither of us would like me to leave as of yet."

"No, not really, though I hate myself for saying it. Continue," Jeremy said reluctantly.

"Alright, then. The reason I chose you is because you're closest to the SKIPed students, and you do not have a SKIP, as you were out sick that day. You must deactivate the SKIP before they can spread."

"Well, how do I do that?"

"Well, while you were unconscious, I ordered the antidote. One part Root Beere Kool-Aid powder, long discontinued, one part Coca Cola Blāk, also discontinued, one part Arizona tea, Green Tea with Ginseng and Honey flavour variant, and one part X-Treme Mountain Dew, discontinued."

"That's a lot of ingredients."

"The company that made the SQUIP and later the SKIP knew that they needed something more complicated this time than something reminiscent of American traffic lights."

"Got it. But... where'd you get the money? That shit's gotta cost a fuck ton of money, especially so much of it."

"Easy, I took precisely what I needed from your stepfather's bank account. He's quite wealthy, he won't notice such a small amount gone."

"Wait, stepfather?"

Judy sighed loudly. "Yes, Jeremy, you have a stepfather, George Brekker. Your mother married him. He was a widow, parent to two children, Elise Amanda Joyce Brekker, called Elise, age eight, and Marcus Luke Kenneth Brekker, age four, called Kenny. Your mother assumed motherhood of these children when she married George Brekker, about eighteen months ago."

"So she got remarried that damn quick, huh?" Jeremy thought bitterly.

"Yes, but she'd been having an affair with him for two years when she left you and your father."

"Huh."

Jeremy didn't know what to think. His mom had been cheating on Dad? And sure, his dad wasn't young or pretty, but Jesus Christ. His mom was kind of a bitch, but this was a whole new level .

"Anyway. The antidote ingredients all be here in three days, we must prepare for that, because you will have to deactivate the SKIP the very school day that you have the means to."

"How do we prepare?"

"I must gather data. Tomorrow, walk by their table at lunch twice. That is all I will need. But rest assured, Jeremy, you will have you friends back and me gone within a fortnight."

"I guess."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Reference picture of Judy Garland: https://www.biography.com/.image/t_share/MTE1ODA0OTcxNjQwNzE4ODYx/judy-garland-9306838-402.jpg
> 
> \- Judy's outfit: http://georgefashions.se/wp-content/uploads/2018/04/Tailoring-GF-Womens-clothing.jpg (the third one)


	4. Two Additions To The List Of Stupid, Crazy, Dangerous Things Jeremy Has Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fifth graders never had good ideas. He'd torn his favourite Pokemon shirt climbing the fence, and obviously almost got run over by a train, not getting off the tracks until it was almost on top of him. Both him and Georgie had gotten suspended until they could learn not to be so reckless (two days).

Jeremy had done a lot of stupid, crazy, dangerous things in his life.

Like the time where Georgie Banks from fifth grade dared him to climb the chain link fence at the end of the playground and stand on the railroad tracks on the other side while the 12:00 train roared in, and not to step off until it was two feet away.

Yeah. Fifth graders never had good ideas. He'd torn his favourite Pokemon shirt climbing the fence, and obviously almost got run over by a train, not getting off the tracks until it was almost on top of him. Both him and Georgie had gotten suspended until they could learn not to be so reckless (two days).

Or that time where he'd vored a wintergreen Tic Tac to be popular. Yeah, that one was always going to be pretty high up on the list of Stupid, Crazy, Dangerous Things That Jeremy Has Done And Regretted.

Yeah, sure, he'd ended up with more friends and saved Rich from his SQUIP, and consequently the world, but definitely got a good bit of trauma from it. Rich, too. Everyone else, not so much, Michael had never gotten a SQUIP and everyone else's had been too new to bother them anymore.

There were two things he'd absolutely never expected to go on that list.

Firstly, walking by a full table during lunch.

Okay, maybe this one was as overdue as Yellowstone's eruption, but he probably would've expected it from a table full of jocks, not from his friends.

Or, well, former friends, depending on how you sliced it.

Anyway, he'd gotten his hot lunch (Sloppy Joes, gross) and walked down the aisle towards the lunch table, where his friends appeared to be having a normal conversation, so normal, he wanted to go and join them.

"That would not result in a favourable outcome, Jeremy. Just keep walking so I can collect the necessary information," Judy said, hovering beside him in a new outfit, the same pants as the first one, just khakis instead of grey now, and with a kelly green polo shirt, and her hair stayed the same concrete curls that all the women in the 50s had.

"Whatever," Jeremy said.

Suddenly, Judy was rapidly speaking in her stupid accent, too fast for Jeremy to understand, sounding alarmed, and then he had fallen on his back onto the floor right in front of the lunch table his friends occupied, Sloppy Joes and tray fallen on the floor a couple feet away.

And then the oddest thing happened.

Michael looked at him, like he was actually there, not looking right through him, but looking at him.

Too bad the look was full of venom and hatred.

"Jeremy Heere. Fancy seeing you here, after everything," he said.

"M-Michael?" Jeremy choked. This wasn't Michael. This wasn't Michael. It couldn't be. "Wh-what do you mean?"

Michael roughly yanked Jeremy up by his backpack and pushed him backwards. "Oh, you don't remember? Oh, yeah, lemme refresh your memory, dear. How about the time you called me a loser and left me to panic in a bathroom? Not like maybe I wanted to enjoy myself at that party or anything, nooo, you left me alone and made me feel like dying. How does that make you feel, huh?"

Jeremy was dumbfounded. Sure, at this point he could tell it was the SQUI- I mean, SKIPSMV, talking, not Michael, but they'd talked about this shit!

"Michael, we've talked about this," Jeremy reminded him gently.

Michael didn't seem to like that answer, and the next thing Jeremy knew, there was blinding white pain across his sinuses.

He didn't... Michael wouldn't... Michael _punched_ him?

"Jeremy, punch him back," Judy said.

"What? No!" Jeremy thought at her. "Are you insane?"

Before Judy could say anything else, Michael grabbed his collar and roughly yanked him so that their eyes locked just a couple inches away.

"Get lost, loser, before I beat the living daylights out of you," Michael spat, pushing him off, and it was all Jeremy could do to cup a hand over his bleeding nose and slink away.

Jeremy stumbled out of the cafeteria and into the bathroom, tripping into the handicapped stall and slamming the door behind him, barely managing to slide the lock before collapsing onto the slimy floor, breaching shallowly and quickly as tears began to streak down his face. 

He hugged his arms around his middle, doing nothing about his middle, allowing his nose to drip blood all over his shirt.

"Jeremy, stop it, right now. This isn't going to help you in getting your friends back. Now take your meds and go have lunch," Judy said, appearing next to him, colder than before.

Of course this was going to happen. Why did he trust the Squip? It didn't matter whose Squip it was, they were all going to be dickheads.

"I heard that, Jeremy. Take your meds. Now."

Whatever. He grabbed his backpack, unzipped it quickly, took out his meds, and downed two pills, dry. Even if it didn't begin to help for an hour, the placebo effect (or possibly the Squip) helped him steady his breathing.

"Take out your spare shirt, put it on, wash your face, and head to class. There's no time to finish lunch," Judy dictated, and Jeremy complied silently. What else could he do?

On the way to class, Judy appeared next to him again. "While the interaction with Michael was detrimental to your mental health, I gathered plenty of information, enough to carry out the next part of the plan, once the Kool-Aid arrives.

"Alright, then, how am I gonna go about this?"

 

* * *

 

Friday came, and there was a small package waiting for him in the morning as he left for school, and he put it in his backpack along with the other ingredients.

"Now, Jeremy, Jenna still drinks out of her insulated cup, bought at Walmart. Turn right on Kilckat Street rather than left onto Mavis, and you'll be there in a quarter of a mile. They just received a new shipment, and they are fully stocked with cups exactly the same as hers. Buy that cup, and after second period, but before entering the cafeteria, you're to go to the bathroom and mix the drink according to my commands. Then, Jenna will get up to get more napkins with Jake at exactly 12:09:11 PM, and I will take over, swapping out her cup with the antidote."

"Hey, why should I let you take over my body?"

"Because you won't be able to do the switch quickly enough. I will be able to time it with when Madeline goes between the table of your friends and the table of the Rich Stoners, masking your switch, and again, you're too slow."

"Fine, but this is the only time you're taking over. Got it?"

"Deal. Turn right here."

* * *

 

 

Jeremy's hands shook as broke up the Kool-Aid powder in the bottom of the cup on counter in the boys bathroom with a pencil. It had been rock solid, hardened into the shape of the rotting paper package, and in order to make sure it dissolved and fit and the cup, he had to break it up.

Once it was as broken up as it would get, he poured in the Coke Blāk, the Arizona tea, and the X-Treme Mountain Dew, and stirred it with the pencil.

"This probably tastes like dog shit," he said as he tossed the sticky pencil into the trash, putting on the lid for the cup, and leaving the bathroom.

"The Arizona tea helps with the taste," Judy said, hovering next to him as he walked down the hall.

"The question is, will she drink it?"

"I'll make sure of it. Prepare for loss of full body control."

Next thing Jeremy knew, he was still walking to the cafeteria, holding the cup, but he wasn't in control, just watching from his head.

He glanced at the clock on the wall next to the doors to the cafeteria. 12:07. No, now it 12:08.

He made a slow beeline for the table where his friends sat, and he saw Jenna and Jake get up, right on time, and swooped in between the table of the Squip Squad and the Rich Stoners, right behind Madeline, and quickly grabbed Jenna's cup, the liquid sloshing as he replaced it with the antidote, and made a move to leave.

"Hey, Heere! Thought our last encounter would give you the hint not to show your face around here anymore," Michael snapped.

Judy ignored him, walking briskly out of the cafeteria and back to the bathroom, where she backed away from the controls and let Jeremy have the wheel.

He simply collapsed into the handicapped stall.

In the distance, he heard screams.

"It worked, Jeremy. The SKIPs are gone."

He could do nothing but draw his knees up to his chest and cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyyyy long time no see
> 
> sorry


	5. Great Explanations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It wasn’t Michael who found him in the bathroom. Not Rich, either, or even Brooke.
> 
> It was Christine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heh yeah sorry for like abandoning this have some angst juice.
> 
> tw for head injury
> 
> also if you got an email saying that ch.6 is posted, personal error on my part. it’s not even halfway done yet ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Judy, for the most part, left Jeremy alone as he cried, which he wasn’t expecting. She even flickered away, probably to do some more high-speed super quantum research.

He ignored the stampede of the hall as lunch ended, and then the silence as class resumed. He never heard sirens, but he was confident that his friends were in the hospital now.

But he thought wrong.

Because after crying for seemingly forever in that handicapped stall, he heard the bathroom door open.

Remembering how alone he was, he let out an involuntary sob.

He heard the footsteps pause, and then, they were... oh god, no, please don’t come over-

“Jeremy?”

It was Christine.

He could see her feet, her hot pink Twinkle Toes with sparkly laces, right in front of the door.

”Go away. You’re not really Christine.”

He heard a strange rattling sound, and then, right before his eyes, the sliding stall lock slid open and Christine stepped in.

He thought he’d destroyed all the SKIP when he’d given Jenna the antidote.

But it definitely wasn’t Christine.

Not with that smirk, or those eerily glowing electric blue eyes.

”Jeremy, you need to get out of here. Immediately.”

‘Ah, nice of you to join us, Judy dear,’ Jeremy thought, though the tone was frantic, not sarcastic. He scrambled up, and, instinctively, pressed against the wall.

’Why didn’t it deactivate for everyone?’

”It was... unexpected. But I’m confident I know why. It’s simple a question of... duck, Jeremy!”

Jeremy looked up just in time to see Christine swinging a fist at him. He scrambled away and pressed to a different wall.

”Jeremy Nikolas Heere. You thought you could destroy us? You’re sadly mistaken. You couldn’t even destroy Jenna’s. And now, maybe we’ll get you.”

That’s when Jeremy realised that Christine was holding a small styrofoam cup, full of off-white liquid. Her sinister, twisted smile reflected off of it.

”Christine, this isn’t you! Snap out of it!”

Christine let her head hang to one side. “Isn’t it? I feel more like myself than I ever have. Especially after you were such a jerk to me, then had the audacity to ask me out.” Her tone shifted from cruel and low to fake pitying. “Did your daddy never teach you how life worked, Jeremy? Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it.”

With that, she lunged at Jeremy, and pinched his nose, forcing his mouth open. She locked her legs around his, and use the arm holding his nose to lock his arm down tight.

Jeremy fought it, he fought hard. He knew what would happen if he drank that... that stuff. If he drank it, he’d never be able to save her. Or anyone else.

With that sudden boost to his resolve (and/or possibly a boost from Judy) he knocked Christine off of him.

She toppled to the ground, hitting her head hard. The cup was knocked out of her hand and the liquid spilled everywhere.

”Quick, Jeremy. To deactivate the SKIPSMV, you must go inside of her head while she’s unconscious.”

Jeremy didn’t even bother speaking in his head. He lunged for her wrist as he spoke

”She’s unconscious?” He checked her pulse. It was there.

”With a hit that hard to her head? The odds weren’t in her favour. Now, grab onto the mental rope. You have to pull her out.”

Jeremy perceived the thin, electric blue rope, and, begrudgingly, latched his consciousness on it. He felt everything go dark, and then, somewhat sticky, then...

He was in a theatre. He was sitting in the front row, centre seat. The orchestra smiled at him brightly, with Christine’s face.

Onstage, was a single performer, in the Audrey costume she’d worn when they’d put on Little Shop of Horrors. She was smiling. Silent. Smiling.

And then, her face shifted. And it was... Kamala Harris?

”Welcome, Jeremy. You’ve come for Christine, eh?”

He was in a dungeon. His hands were in shackles, his head was fixed to the wall.

”Well, it won’t be easy.”

Jeremy pushed. This wasn’t Christine. It wasn’t Kamala Harris.

But this was Christine’s mind.

He pushed.

The bonds shattered, and he ran. The hall was paved with Playbills, some painted over with crude grey paint.

“Jeremy!”

He skidded to a stop to find another cell. Christine was in it, struggling against shackles just like the ones he’d had.

”Jeremy!”

He whirled around.

He skidded to a stop to find another cell. Christine was in it, struggling against shackles just like the one he’d had.

“Jeremy!”

His head turned towards the sound. To his right.

He skidded to a stop to find another cell. Christine was in it, struggling against shackles just like the one he’d had.

“Jeremy!”

“Jeremy!”

”Jeremy!”

”Jeremy!”

He skidded to a stop to find another cell. Christine was in it, struggling against shackles just like the ones he’d had.

He skidded to a stop to find another cell. Christine was in it, struggling against shackles just like the ones he’d had.

H̶e̴ ̶s̸k̴i̵d̴d̸e̵d̷ ̵t̸o̵ ̷a̸ ̵s̴t̸o̴p̷ ̶t̵o̵ ̸f̶i̵n̴d̷ ̷a̶n̶o̷t̶h̶e̷r̴ ̸c̶e̷l̶l̷.̸ ̶C̶h̴r̶i̶s̷t̵i̵n̵e̷ ̷w̸a̶s̸ ̸i̵n̶ ̵i̴t̵,̸ ̴s̷t̷r̵u̴g̵g̵l̶i̶n̴g̵ ̶a̸g̷a̶i̵n̷s̵t̷ ̸s̵h̸a̵c̵k̷l̷e̶s̷ ̷j̵u̴s̷t̴ ̶l̷i̶k̸e̵ ̷t̸h̴e̶ ̵o̶n̴e̸s̶ ̷h̷e̵’̶d̸ ̵h̶a̵d̷.̷

J̵̨̨̢̨̡̢̡̡̢̧̧̢̨̧̡̛̞̻̘̗͈͖̙̹̘̰̖̲̮̮̠̻͇̝̱͙̟̠̫̖̰̺̩̮̱̤̩̣͕̩̙̹̪͉̟̼̘̩̖̼͙̪̝̗͙̭̪͚̲̹̣̜̗̯̠̙̠̥̫͇̣̬̻͇̝̪͈̖̪̠̯̣̮̥̪͚͎̯͙̘̟̣͉͇͕̪͎̹̯͚̻͔̭͕̞͒̋̉͐̒̌̈́̓̍̃̂̈̔̑͊̏̃̂̅͗̊̍͋̿͂͐̓̿̅̂̿̈́̀̓̓̾͌̃̉͂̈́̈́͂̓̋̊͂̒̀̀́̀̉̒̋͊́͊̄̇̄̎̎͛̋͋̌̀͛͂̆͊̋̈̊͐̃̆̽̿́̇̾͛̇̍̊́̈̄̈̒̊̆̈͘̚͘͘̚̕͘̕͜͝͝͝͝͠͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅë̶̢̢̨̧̧̨̪̯̥̦͖͔͙̣͉̱̘̬̖̙̮͉͎̹͎͔͎̠͖̼͕̖̠̫̫̯̘̺̜͇̪̼̳̪̥̹̝͉͙͎͉̯͈͉͈͓͔͎̖̞̣̜̰͔̹̘̤̣́̒̑͆͊̈́̈́͛̍̀͗̃͛̉̑͌͆̄̚͜͜͜ͅͅͅṛ̴̨̡̡̨̧̨̨̡̨̡̛̛͉̲̮̩͇̣̟̹̣͔̩̦̗̘̤̗̯̺̙̱̻̱͎̩̟͚̖͈͙̲̬̪̥̪̰̹̹̠͚͖̩̼͍̻̻̤͇̬̩̹͈̙̩̮̯̙̩͔͈͎̼̣͕̦̹͇̟̭͎̲̎̒̈́̂͂̒̊̾̈̒̿̆̍̒̓́͗̈́̂̆́̃͗́̃̅̄̇̉̃̅̇̐̀̑̈́͋̎̾͛̇͊͌̀̍̅̃̇̇͋̊̓̑̓̾̉́̄̒̀̇̊̌̔̈͂̊̈͊̃̄̊̐̆̿̈͗̂̃̈͛̒̋͐͛̾̆̌̄͑̅̑͐͑̌͋̔̑̾͋͒̊̽̍̄̾͌̍͂̌̊̆͑̆̽̆̾̅͑̊͐̃̓͋͘͘̕͘̕̕͘̕͘͝͝͝͠͠ͅͅͅͅͅę̶̨̨̨̨̧̨̧̨̨̨̡̢̨̛̛̛̻͍͔̙͔͓̟̣̖̩̭͍̻̖̣͉̳͍̹̬͇̜̞̯̤͕̫̫̬͙̜̗̠̫̤̱͎̻͇̼̮͉̬̮̟͓̳̟̪͕͈̹̜̟̪̺̪̙̪̺̬̘̼͔̖̭̥̙͚̘̙̝̤̟̥͔̦̜͈͕̦̲̯̘̗̼̩̬̜̠͉̩̳͈͔͙̘̞̲̻͓͎̯̰̳̳̦͙̭͂̄̃̉̊̋̽̀͗̂̅̊̿̅̒̒̊͌̋̃̒̆͐̋͋̃̉̂̊̈́̉̅̑̌͒͗̎̉̈́͛̽̉̍̈̆̍͑͒̽̽̿͊̽̒̉̎̉̕͘̕͘͜͜͜͠͝͝͠͝͠ͅͅm̴̧̨͚̘͔͎͕͇̠̥̠͇̞̝̓͂̎̈́͗̎́͗̋͛͋̌̿̃́̈́̒̒͒͒̆̋͂̃͆̋̒̑̊͝͝ͅ

I̸̡̧̩̰͓͍̺̻̙̣͇̮̤̼̗̪̰̥̦͍̹̣̗̪̠̜̞͑͋͛̏͑́͐̈́̑̄͂̅̕̕͘͜͜ ̶̢̨̧̯͇͚̺͚͚̻̞̬̘̭̗͚̮̟̹̞̻́͌̉̋̊̍́̚f̸̡̰̗̖͖̯̱̓̅̀͊̏̾͗̔̅͐̏́̂̀̐̎͌̀̚̚͝͝ẻ̷̡̧̧̲̹͇̥̮̬̹̣͇̮̻̠̞̦̙̺̀͂͜͜ͅe̶̢̬͕͕̠̭̹̲͇̻̮͎̙͇̙͕̫̤͕͓͓̣̹̱̹̠̿̏̑́͆́̀̎̀̊̉̋̏̌͗̂̕ͅͅl̴̢̨̛̗̠̫̺͈̭̘̞͈̘̤̖̘͔̬͍͖͍̮͊̋̽̈̄̆̒͑͆̅̏̈́͛̓͛̎̾͝ ̶̨̹͉̬̖̠̣̄͒̏̋͒̂̌͊̾͂̌̈́͝͠͝m̴̙̤̩̅̎͋̿͘o̵̬̞̖̺̘̮̱͂̏̐̿̉̊͐̽̑͋̾͂̇̈́̾̓̈͒͊̎̾̈́͆́̾̕̚͝͝r̵̡̡͓͎̗̱̬̲̭̰̤̺̞̪̞͎̻͓̝͋̓̚͝e̴̡̧̦̹̙͖̹̗͖̩͉̻̬͇̲̅̿̆̓͑̽̈́̏̎̆̎͂̊͂͗̿͊̄͝͝ ̷̢̧̫̲̤̙̦̼̜̯̲͍̯̻̻̮̲̝͙̙̟̥͖̍͐̇͂͆̉́̈̎͋̉̍̈͆͗͒͛̌̇́̈́̍͘͠ͅl̷̰͈̯͚̣̭͉̩̜̮̥̟̥̘̘̦̤̘̦̲̜̂̌͗͛͐̀̈̉̑̐̍̌̾̚ͅì̶̻͇̰̯͙͎̖̭̠̰̓̈́͑̄̑́́̇̓̃̓͐͗̓̌̚̕͜͠͠͠͝͝͝k̵̡̧̢̨̹͚͓̰̝̞̩̲̹͎̬̬̤̞̥̥̇̿̀̈̄̈́͘͝͝ę̷̢͇̻̖̩͇̟̘͙̤̘̺͓̟̝͎̞͈͇̩̬͕͈̝̀͛͛̅͒̉͌͐͋̉ͅͅ ̷̧͙͍͖̳̞̰̹̳̰͉̱͓͈̟͈̰̟͙̋̾̓̔̎̓̀͌̑̓̑͆̑̓́͌̔̍͘͠͠m̷̧̧̮̣̘̭͍͖̬̣̮̪̰͔͔͎̜̙̏̔̍̆̉̓͜ͅy̵̻̾͒̇͂̀͊̃̅͑̈́̄̾̍̌̏͑̏̚̕̚̕͠͝s̵̙̳̺͔̔͊͊̑̏̿͗̀̄̎̏́͆̄̀͒̋̌̒̾́̆̇̕͘͝ë̸̛̫̞̺̲̹̠̬̤͇̭́̒͛̔̌͒̀̐̔͌͛̆̏̈́̏̏͊͛͊̾̈́̂̏͒̊̓͜͠l̶̨̧̛̤͉̩̹̤͈̯̟̼̯̝̩͇̺̭͚̬͓̞̻̔̍͒̈̌͂̾͗̋̆͒͌̊̋̂̀͂̀̏̒̀̓̔̀͒͘͠͝ͅf̶̰̺͙̻͖̤̍̍̌͌̄̾̌͐̑̒̀̃̉͗͂͋́͋̈́͊̆͂̒̒̀́̕͜͜͝ ̴̨͕͕̟͙͕͍͚̝̜̬̙̹̠̱̦̣̜̩͈͚̯̓́͂́́̌̉͑̊̐̅̊͐̓́͂́̓̀̃̀̏̋̇͘͘͜͜͠͝t̶͚̪̤̲͖̙̞̖̦͍̫͕̭̋̆̾̄̾̌̄̅̉͆̉͆͌̈́͋́̂͠ḩ̷̧̧͔͓̪̰̰͉̙̳̘̮̺̣͍̹͇͇͙͔̙̑̌̔̆̂̒̑̐̿̇͊͜͠ͅả̸̛̬̳͔̣͔̌̄͋̎͑͐̑̎͂̋̉̃͝ņ̴̢̨͈̜͓͍̱̥̹̳̠̖̰͔͓̟͓͋̽̌͌͛̈́̊̉̈́͗̑͐̒̀̎͐͐̅̅̎́͛̋̕͜͜͝ ̸̨̨̙̞͖͙̲̟͔̝̉͗͐̿̏̊́͒́̌̍̈͝͝͝I̶͍͉̠̠̻̟̱̳̰̲͍̫͓̰̞̤̯͍͍̠̣̟͆̀̍͜͠ ̶̨̪̺͎͓͕̘̠̞̜̗͈̥͖̻̜̰͖̟̯̈́̽́̍̈́̐̐̑́̒̀̓́̑͗̌̓̿̔́̊̀̀̈͜͜͝͝ḝ̷̧̢̢̧̠̥̝͈͓̳̝̭̻̟͖͓͎̙̮͖͖͎̓̑̓̾̊͜͜v̴̨̧͔̹͇̙̤͑́̌͐̾̈́̎͒̾̽͂̉̃̚͘͝e̶̢̛̜͇͚̠͙̮̬̻̰͕͙͚̼͕̽̂̈́͋̈̉̔̃́͆̾̀̏͒̊̈́̒͆̋́̚͘r̵̘͔̟̥͈̹̝̭͔̩̼͓͇̲͕̥͖̹̠̖̳̳̜̟͓̱̲͔̳̓̃̌̑̈́̀̒̉̇̓̉̇̃͠͠͝͠ͅ ̸̢̡̛̰̖̯̩̦̬̠̬̯̖̥̣̠̞̩̙̱͙̣̣͕̇̒̈́̌̈̀̓̍͐̓̂͆̐̄͛͘͜͝ͅͅe̷̡̢̨͉̙̰̣͙̪͖̞͓̗̓̔̆̃́̂̉̈́͊͐̈́̐̾̃̿͆͐̈́̐̐͆̒̔̈́͘͘̚̕̚͜͝v̷̢̡̻̠̰͚̮̺̰̘͚̪̘͈̰̥̩̰̩̺̻̱̩̒̎̂̏̈̓͋̃̂͐̀̔̎̊̈́͊̀͘͘̚͜͝͠͝͠ͅͅe̴̛͚͌̑̊̀̀̉̃̆̇͌̀̈̃̏̈́̚͝ŗ̴͎͇̜̓̃̒́͒́̿̂̍̿̋͋͐͛̓͗͒͆̊͘͘͘ͅ ̵̨̖̺̝͇̘̭̳͉̇͐̾͂̔͆̈̏̃̓͗͊́͗̏̚͜͜͠͝ͅh̵̨̛̛̥̩̙̤̙̥̹̙͚̹̣̩̲͓̯͗͊̃̋̋͐̓͛̅̊͗̆͗̑̌͐̓͗̏̾̽̈̍̿͝͝ͅͅa̸̞̙̳͆́v̷̡̨̛̛̹͉̜͇͍̖͓̗͕̤͂̂͌̊̒̐̓̿̄̐͌̈́̉̓̈̽̆̎́̐̋̉̐̈́̐̾͘͜͝e̸̛̛̼̗͇͂̋͒̌̆̅͑̊̅̅̿̑̆̾̚̕͘͝

J̷̧͙͛ę̵͙͓̀̿ͅͅr̷͈̘̩͇͎̈́́̅ȅ̶̢̄̀̓m̴̫̣̤͗͆̓͜y̶͈̩͐̒̇̄̀̆͗̔ ̴̩̍̃̀̃̊̀͠s̷̼̺̥͉͕̩̣̑͗̿k̴̟̃̊͆̇̽̏͘i̴̺̥͓̒̈́͑͋d̵̡̰̝͇̼͉̠̦̽̿͆̀̐̆͌͆d̸̨̑̏͊ḙ̷̢̡̛̼͋͛d̷͚͑͗̕̕ ̸͕̰͐͌̎̆͆̄͝ṭ̴̩̿̓͛͗̈́̔͠ͅo̷̲͂͝ ̵̰̎̈́̐͋͠ą̸̛̍̌̊̋̓̏̔ ̵̯͙̯͇̪̪͔͓͒̎̈̃ş̵̗̤̖̑̈̓̀̒͜͠t̷̨̧̪̪̪̝̬͌̊͊͊̄̈́͜o̴̝͈̱̫̳̾̄͆̂́̒̚͝p̵̖̥͙̠̘̠̗̺̀̔̾̽̔̏͋̂ ̴̙̲̾͌͒͝t̸͈̫̉̅̆͂̒̎ö̸͓̟̖́̄͛͆͐͝ ̵̳̒̈́̍̓͑̉̃͝f̵̣̩̿̄̿͊̎̀̎͆i̷̦͍̥͓̫̾͜n̶̡̦̜̕ḏ̸͙̀͒͋ ̸͎̠̱̮̫͆a̵̢͓̝̭͂̑͐͒͋͜ͅṋ̶̛̝͖̳̘͐̂̇̿ͅo̵̧̩̮͕̐ţ̸̠̝̯̮̂́ͅh̴̗̠͆̎͊̊ȩ̴̖͕̱̬͚̽̎̀̑ͅr̵̮͙̓̒̋ ̵̡̛̥̖̘̲͇̦̖̿͐̍̑̍̚͠c̸͚̱̘̆̀̔̌̊͊͝ę̵̨̪̫̗̠̀͂̊͆̂͝ͅl̸̨͕̲̽̆̅̃͜l̶̳̗̭̠̞̚.̸̢̯͖̱͖͉̲̘͊̈́̈́ ̵̨̗̻̪̝̤͖̇̄͝C̵̳̰̜̪̬̅͛̚ͅͅh̵̝̠̱̼̮̼̑͊̿̉ȓ̷̮̞̈̂͘i̷̗̊̆̿̆͑̏ş̸̮͉͓̣̜͓̂ť̷̡̬̲̉͊̓̆͠i̴̢̍͗͗͘n̷̠̆̽̉́̈́̂̇̈́ȩ̵̮̼̙̯͉̼̝̇͑̑̾͆́͋ ̶̢̩̭̱͇͓̙̟̈́͝w̷͉̬̞̼͕̍̋̅͠à̷̯̏̆͒̃̽ŝ̷̲̘͙͈̈́́̓̾͌ ̴̡̖̲̙̙͕̼̫͋̓H̶̢̨̨̡̢̢̢̢̡̢̨̡̧̡̨̢̢̛̛̠͎̬̤̝̲̰̙̤̘̖̗̻̱̠̪͙̩͖̘͙͎̜͚͙̞̥̪̙̜̦̮̯̬͎͔̼̗͙̩̟̯̲͖̫̫̼̠̙̹͖̟̲͔̰͙͓̰̖̻̙͙̭͙̺͈̙̼͚͙̦̩͕̳̠̯̺̟͇͓͔͇̗̗͓̻̙͓̜̙̻͔̹̘̤̖̰̖̯̹͈̙͔͉̞̟̥̜̥̖̖̟̘͍̺̙̹̼̪̱̮̟͎̳̘͕̜̼̝͖͙͚̩̹̼͖̬͉͓̲̣͎̟̺̬̪̱̩̥̯͖̣̜̼̝̞͚̻̖̝̞̬̫͉̼̥̰̹͔̙͍̜̲̹̻͇̝͊̆̅̀̓̇̋̓̄͊͋̓͛̉͂̇̈́̅͆̓̏̈́͒̉̋̈́͐̋́̀̊̒̽̾͛̔̎͑̊͒͋̓̍́͆̌̐̽̀̊͌̓͗̋̑̑̋͑̍̌̉̑̇̀͐̿͛͐̐̾͋̌̉̓̇͆̌͂͐͗͛͌̂͑̂͌̑͑̌̎͌͂̄̂̃̓̄̊̅͒̍̅̌̄̌̾̊̔̒͗̉͋̓̑̏̄͘̕̕̚͘̕̚͘̕̕͜͜͜͝͝͠͝͠͝ͅͅͅͅẻ̶̡̨̨̢̡̢̧̨̢̨̩̦̗̞̱̜̭̟̤̤͕͕̰̜̥͙̦̼̯͇̠̝̗̻̗̣̝̣͉̖̠̪͍̻̟͈͓̹̦͍͎̭͚̼̻̗̥̤̦̪̤͍̥͕̗̩̝͖̲͓̲̜͈̯͎͉̖̗͔͉͚̦̫̱͚̦̘̹̫͔̦̰͓̹̫̻͓̫̯̬̹̳̪̘̲̘̜̦̹̹̹̬̺͙̫̠̞̩̳̱̺̦͈͓͈̯̜̣̺̹̞̥͓͈̟̱͕͍͔̘̳͔̪̥͙̼̹̦̣̞̹̜̥̳͍̘̱̲̭͖͓̲̖̝͍͈̜͇̺̫̺̖̈́̐̅͜͜͜͜͜ͅͅͅͅͅl̸̨̢̧̢̧̛̠̟̹̦̗̻͚̲̪̯̹̗̲͓̠̬̯͖̗̟̘̰̝̺͍̮͉͍̻̤̪̬̯̥̠̟͎̱͓͙̻̰̣̽̌͆͑͂̀̐́̉͊͌̉̏͋̄͌̏̀͛̋́̓͌͛̄̇͛̂̎̆͂̀̈́̾̆͑̀̒͊̉̓͊͊̌͌͌̔̃̋̂͒̃͒̓̃̇͂̒̐͘͘͘͘̚̕̚̚͜͜͜͝͝͝͝͠͝͝ͅͅl̴̡̢̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛͖̺̯̜̜̜̭͙͙̪̘̪̞̙̺̞̺̱̹̪̹͍̥̹̪̻͊̿̀̿̓́̓̿̏̎͂̋̿̓̄̓̓̈́͛̌̊́̄͌̑̏̉͂̉̒̓́͗͌̈͌̈́͗̃͗́̊͗̄̃͂̑͊͆̀̓̀̑̓͌͗̾͂͌̎̂̌̀̽̽͌̐͆͛͐́̌̐̅̍̍̐͆̆͆́͌̿̑̋̿̅̃̾̅̀̅́̂̽̎̾͐͛̆̊̅͗͗͌̑̇͒͛̆͊̃̀̎̊͌̇̋̄̍̑̀̿̄̎̐̈͌̋̋̀͂̎̎͆̒͐̊͐̅̓̈̃̌̌̉̐͑͗́̋̌̑̋̿̑͑͛̂̃͗̐̿̀̿̒̎͆̄̏̾̔͒̍̃̂͒̄͛́͒̆̃̓͒͛̿̂̃̉͌̿̇̉̑̏̓̔̌͑͑̿͘͘̕̕̚̕͘͘͘̚̚̕͘̕͘͘͘͘͝͠͝͝͝͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͠͝ͅờ̷̧̨̡̨̡̢̢̨̢̢̧̨̨̨̨̧̡̨̧͔̜̟̝̫̩͍̙̳̖̤͍̭̗͕͉͉̥̙̩̟̫̘̗͍͔̦̝̪̪͉̙̥̞̹͉̗̳̳͔͇̙̩̞͇̩̘̭̖̺͕̳̪͓̻̲̘͉̥̻̳̙̗̺̤͓̰̝͙̜̤̠͔͍̝͚̲̖͉̲̺̜̣̬͓͔͇̙͇̝̣͖͚̩͕͉͙̥͈̩̩̖̮̦͈͚̤̩̻͉͇̘͇͙͈̳̲̠͖̯̟͕̺̭͍̯̩̗͕͉̳̗̦̱̖̞̻̠̫̤͔̞̜̯̞̫̹̦̟͙̮̱̠͎̘̹̼̺̖̼̯̟͎̘̬̬̱͖͖̹͕̠̣̬͓̠̱̦̖̭͙̭̰̱̞͕͙͍̤̝͚͉͉͍̥͙̥̻̟̫̫͈̲͇̺̗͉͎͖̖̫̻̩͖̘̯͔̟̙̤͎̈́̎̓̎̾͐́͑͗̅̇̈́̈́́͐͌̂̔͗̈́̇͑̔͂͊̓̓͌̂̎̀́̑̎̾͗̿̇̓̈́̈́̑̓͐̎̀͊̀̽̍̇̿̏͗̏̃̆̆̍̌̒͛͐̊͐̂̄͊̀̃̇̒͊͐̊̽͊̏̊̿̈͊̋̈̍̔̃͛͆͆͛̿̉͐̊̇͐̊͊̉́́̐̆͗̾́̐̋̋̂̅́͑̿͂̓͌͌̇̄̂̊̀̈͊͗͆̀̃̌͘͘̕̕̚͘͘͘̚̚͘̕̕͘͜͜͜͜͝͝͠͠͝͝͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅͅ ̷̨̢̡̢̧̢̨̨̡̡̧̢̧̧̢̨̢̡̢̢̧̛̛̰͉͔͍̜̺̱͖̠͈͖̩̦̖̭͉̹͔͓̟͙̲̪̯̪͇̖̰̭̙̜͍̟͖̩͙̤̩̤̯͔͈͍̤̱̩̜̰̩̖͓̗͎͕͉̼̯̭̲̘̪̖̺͇͔͉̲̣̙̱͍̩̠̹̱̲̟̝̯͈̰̱̩͙̻̞̞̺̮̺̼̞̘̫̭̳͈̳̜̬̪̹̘̜͚̟͎̲̘̫͚̖̤͇̣͔̫͔̫̞̬̗͍̫͓̗͔͍͈̼̦̩͖̰̺̺̗̲͉̘͉̦̝̪̞͍̖͎̝̙͇͈̙͈̘̬̯̹̩̭̮̼̤̱̬̗̫̹̮̱͓͕̥̠̯̗͇̝̥̬͈̯͇̞̥̟̱̱̠̝̬̼̝̯̯̞̩̥̟̪̝̰̝̱͍͉̪͓̮̭̺̞͕̟̙̟̳͔̠̖̫̣̻̗̭͚͙͐͌̅̌́͌͛̇̂̀͛̑̈̍̾̓̀́̊̅͋̾͆́̅͑̾̑̀̐̽̈́͛̍̈́̾͐̈́̉̽͌͒̿̿̐̇͌̄̉̓͆̾̇̒̔̍̇̑̽͒͒̑͆͛̄̄̅̿͌̃̔̌̀̎͌͋͗̽͂̅̔̓͒̾̉̌͊͑̈́̿̎̄̉̋̄̒͂̆͂͛̔́̅͛̐̒̀̓̌͂̇̋̕̚̕̕̕͜͜͜͜͜͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͠͠͠ͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅJ̸̢̧̡̡̡̧̨̢̧̡̢̨̧̧̛̛̛̛͕̪̥̝̜͍̺͖͇̦͉̲̝̫͖̯̻̳̳̙̳̻͓̦̮̺̠̖̻̜̟̰̮̙̱̫̭̻̖̮̭̙̳̳͚̰͈̲̣͙̦̠̰̮̻͕̲͖̥̹͈͉̟̺̪̮̙̟̬̮̺̙͖͕͇̳̼̹͖̺͙̘̘̖̫̟̠̲̬̼̤̳̱̳͎̣̙͎̲̮̪̝̙̭̹̟̣͎̙͙͖̟̥͙̳̦̫̱̠̳̘͇͕͖̮̦̣̖̙͈̝̀̌̌̿́͋̋̾̀͑̋̓̆̅̉̊̈̄̎͒̍̒̄́̽̌̓́͗͑̅̒̀̋̌̓̓͌̐͌͊̇̍̒̋̾͂̈̽̄́̂̈̾͆͊͊͛̾̇̄̃͑̑̌̀̀̿̃͂̄̊̋͛͊̄̔͋͒́̚̚̚̕̚͜͜͜͝͠͠͝͝͠͠͠ͅͅͅͅͅͅͅé̵̢̡̧̧͔͕̜͙̰̖̣̭̙̮̠͇̮̘͓͔̟̳̟͖̪̦͈̩͊̄̀͜͜͝r̸̢̨̨̧̢̨̢̡̧̡̢̡̢̨̡̢̛̛̛͙̭̙͇͇̠̠̘̤̲̣̰͍̳̠̠̯͙̪̘̭̺̬̘͓̩͎͓͍͓̼̗̳̳͇̺͕̙̼̫͈͇̥̙͙̰̮̘̩͔̖̫̹̹̝̝͎̮͍̰̲̻͉̻̻͍͓͎̤̺͖̻̗̦͔̪͙͉̺̘̻͖̥͇̤̹̰͚͓͖͍̻̮̖̭̰͚͙͓̖̲̱̰͉̹̮͓̟̬̼̞͍̫̥̲̱͉̞̯̖̙̞͉͇̤͔͖̫̫̪̤͙̼͉̺͚̣̤̗͕̩̜̪̦̰̱̜̘͙̯͈̙̤̱͍̪̭͙̣̰̳͍̝̭͓͉̘̪̳͉̹̥̠͇̘̫̥̠̰̤̗͚̄͋̓̾̃͌͆̅͆̎͐̿̍̑̀͊͂͑̀̓̿̓̇̿͒̌̇͂̎́̈͂͌̈͑̇̆̽̈́͊̎̏̽̾̅̑̽̔̉͌̓̌̎̉̆̎͗̈̿̎̂̌̀͗̈͊̇̄̽̾̎͂̋͒̄̔̈̎̋̋̎͘͘̚͜͜͜͝͠͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅe̵̢̨̛̛͖̟͖̟̰̤̟͓͔̺̖̺͙̳͙̰̬̗̥̱̭͉̣͔͓̥̟̬̮̰͉̞͙̗̬͚̺̻̠̘͛̃̀͋́͌̍̿̓̒̀͂̍̊̓̓̈͗̀̒̇͒́͗̀̈́̿̾̀̂͌͒́̓̒̎̈́̊̅̌͋̈́͌͂͆̈́̓̍̅̍̌̅͌̀̉̋̓̅͛̃̈̒̅͌̌̅͒̓̅́͒̔̆̍͗͒̎͛̍̆̍̽̑͊̓͒͂̇͌̊̃̓͋̌͐̒͑͌̍͌̑̎͊̔̑͛̾̓͊̾͌̍͂̂͆̆͋̽͆͊̅̾̽̄̀̆̏͌̌͊̎̊̒̽̄̑͂̋̅̅͒̌̉̋͑͌͋̊̈̎́̇̉͌̏̈̍͋̎͛͆́̎͌͂͆͆̆̍͆͂͒͊́͌̓̃́́͆̎̽̆̏̎̋̽͂͛͊̂͘͘͘͘͘̚͘͘̚̕̚͘͜͠͝͝͠͠͠͠͝͝͝͝ͅm̸̨̡̧̧̢̢̨̡̢̛̛̞̬̫͚͉͔̫̬̺̩͍̞̜̺̗̳͉͓͎̝̪̝̤͉̪̯͙̞̘̳̩̲͎̻̝̤̥̫͍̜͍͍͖͈̥̜̟͓̦͚̗̝̱̣͇̗̘͚̟̯̹̼̝͉̼̘̺̬̪̤͙̥̙͍̗͙̥͔̮̖̯̹̱̰̼̝̹͓̰͖͓͕̲̘͈͇͈̱̈̅͒̒̂͆̂͛̇̆͂̄͐͊̽͒͊̃̔̀̀́͋̀̋̓̊͑̆̉̔̿̏͑̋͌͊͌̓̊̑̎́͆̓̈́̅̃̿͑̒̾͋́̌̇͗̌̾̊͑͑͑̄̾̓͐́̽͘͘̕͜͜͜͝͠ͅͅͅͅy̸̡̨̢̢̧̨̡̛̛̛̪̩͕͖͉̲̟̣͉̜̣̟͔̞̞͉̰̪̣̻̤̣̲̳̫̦̠̙̩̤̳̣͓̤̥̮̩̘͈̬̼̰̖̘̩̳̜̬̻̝͓͕̮͖̙̭͓̥̫͔̺̲͈͓̘͉̖̮̘̣͎͈̜͉̗̹̼͚̑͑̎̓̏͗́̎̈̆́̇͆̈́̍̌̇̈̀̆̇̀̍̊͒̽͋͒̊͒̔̐̔͌̆͂̀̓̈́͌̐̇̾͌̉̔̍͋̏͛̎͌͊̌̐͆͐͐̂̆͑̌̾͊̍͛̅̅̂̍̈̄͋̋̔̑͒͊͐̽͆͋͗͌̃̿͂͂̐̆̂̏̆̃̈̐͂̐̍͋͋͒̉̽̏͗͋̓̌͂̐̚̕̕̚͘͘͜͜͠͠͠͝͝͠͝͝ͅͅ!̸̧̧̡̢̨̨̨̧̡̢̢͖̳̱̹̮̜̘͇̜͙̮̼̹̺͇̥̠̦̻̣̳̜͉̯͇͕̫̫̳͈̙̻̘͈̣̮̬̬̗͔̙̳̳̼̣͔̞̺̜̖̟̬̤̺̬͈̳̯̺͇̫̮̣̩͉̪̰̦̫͚͔̤͎̠̠̳̟̖͇͙̫͇̺̪͚͚̃̔͆̎́͌̄͒̈́̀̈́̇̀̈͂̓̓͆̆͆͑̃͋̇̇̄̀͑̽̑͋͆͗̈́̏͌̍̊̐̓̊̋̂̌̋͆̆͒̏̈̐̎̿͂̂͋̆̍̏͛͋͑̉̇́̾̌̉͑̂͂͆̏̐̈̓͋͂̔̔̂͋̈͌͗̋̊̏͐́̌̓͂̒̚̚͘͘͘͘͘̕̚͜͜͜͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͝ͅ!̶̧̡̡̢̢̡̢̢̨̛̛̛̛̛̼̙̞̗͈̩̫̮̠̮͍͉͍̲̰͎̤͕̪̦͙͈̳̖̯͙̯͚̜̫͇̱̝̹͖̟̬͇͓̖̤̆͊͊̇̑̃̓̄͗̍̿̔͐̉̂̆̑̀̍̅̀͌̑̓̒͐͂̓̎̍̾̓͌͗͗͆́́̇͑́͋̀̅͛̑̾̈́̀̊̿̔̿̐̈͐́̿̑͐͑̾̌̅͐͒̒̂́̐͌̒͒͑̆͌̍̃͆̆̓̈̂̎̔̽̏̑̎͂͆̽͗͐͋̈̅̑̒̈͐̿̔̃̒͑̒͐̇̆͌̇͋̂́̉̒̌͌̎͆͌̃͋̇̉̉̀̒̄̑͋͂̏͐̾̓̊͌̊͋̈̂̽͆͗̐͊͋̑͛̓́͐͆̈́̎̓̄͋̋̽͑̆̄͊̇̒̋̏͛͆̂̏̾͌͑͒̍͆̏͋͊̔̑͐̃̋̇͗̽͂̏͑̇̂̃̎̒͂͘̚̕̕͘̚͘͘̚̕̚̕̚̕̚̚͘͝͠͝͝͝͝͠͠͠͝͝͝͝͝͠!̴̨̢̨̡̡̢̡̨̡̡̧̡̥̥͖͇̙̩̣̗̬͈̖̹̪̯̥̜̱͕̬͈̱̰͔̼̳̘͈̜̜̗͍̰̬̙͙͚̣̜̭̰̭̖̩̬̼̗̩̳̻͍̳̼̰̝̦͚̤͖͔̯̙͉͖̮̻̥̗̰͙̲͓̱͔͙̦̭̼͇͖̮̠̦͇̘͈̠͍͉̩̫͍̝̰̣͎̭͉̖̓̔́̑̐́͐̉̕͘͜͜ͅͅi̸̠̪̲̳͍̔̌̐͐̍̄̈́̚͜ṅ̴̩̦̳̹̖͐̂̈́ͅ ̷̠̼͗̎i̸͎̜͖͑͊̈́́͛̂̕͘ͅt̴̹͖̱̫͖̟̥̼͛̈́̍̀̋̍̔̒,̴̱̩̪̠̬̹͍̅̑̏͋̂̋͘ ̷͖̼̯̩͕̿́̕̚͘s̶̜͓̬̰͓̥͌͋̏̐́ț̴̨̧̧̲̬͐̇̇͒r̶̡̘͐̒̑̔̍̈̐̕ṷ̷̡̬͖̝̀̀̐̔́͛͠ǵ̴̨̙̠g̸̗̥̖̳̺͆̊̇͗́̉̀l̷̪͐͊͐̽͘í̴̺͍͓̪̙̖̋̎̐͌n̸͔̖̗̿̃̅̔̓͝g̷̭̤̜̦͌͜ ̵͍͔̰̯̌͛ͅa̷̡̹̼͈̥̥̞̱͆͆̆̓̏́̀͌g̷̛̛̜̈́̐͐͘͜͝͝a̸̺̅̽͌̈́i̴̡̛̥̾̒͑̚ň̵̘̹̄̀̽̽̂̌͂s̷̛̠̦̘͈̦̗͒̿̈́͗̊̽͘͜t̶̛̙̖̖̭̰̼̮̽̋͋̊̅ͅ ̵̘̼̫̮͖̓͆͠š̵̢̛̘͔̝̫̰͍̔̓̀̀͂ẖ̷͙̥̻̺͚̘͔́͛̿̊̆̚͝ậ̶̱̦͓͍̥͇̐͘c̷̨͔̼͊͜k̴͎͇͂͗̂ͅl̵̨͇̻̞͔̂͆͗̔̑̉e̴̢̟͌̈͝͝s̶̡̮̻̝͚̬̺̽ ̴̩̤̳̝̮́j̸̯̀̋ṷ̷͍͓͚̤̪̋͗̈́̅̎̾s̶̰̼̗̩̾̅̓͂̓̎̕͘t̶͈̉̉͌͂̈́̅̕ ̴͚̏ͅl̷͙͇̺͌ͅȉ̷̠͖͎̹͂̂̒͒͝͝k̶̡̡̙͍̃̾̾̒̄͆e̴̟̿̋͊̅͂͗ ̷̝̮̘̥̃̈̍͋̓̈́̑ţ̷̢̛̩̺̳̲̣̪̑̔̅̿̈͝͝h̸̙̩̋̂e̴̺̗̭̳̕ ̶̫͉̗͒ṏ̸̻̗́̏̿̃͛̉̕n̸̪̫͉̝̘̑̎͂̀̕ẽ̶̹̄ͅs̷̢̲͔͎̫̰͎̏̋̍̏̾͝ ̴̞̜̳̳̣̓̈́̄ḩ̴̼͉̭͕͎͉͕̍͊ę̷͚̹̼̟͇̈́̉̓͂͌̓̉̒’̵̛͙̺͔͇̼̈̿̾d̴̡̛͙͎̞͕̘͇̅̾͆̔̕͜͝͠ ̵̫̏̆̃̐͠h̷̟̜̺̟̆́̒̊̄́̈́ã̷̡̙͙̱̦̼͎̔ḋ̵̹͚̺̯̓̽͛.̵̰̱̈́͋̾̃͊̕̚͘

 

 

_fear_

 

 ** _don’t_** **you**

 

“Jeremy!”

 

He pushed.

 

He pushed and everything shattered into millions of tiny pieces. Every chain, every shackle, every Christine.

 

Every Christine but one.

 

He ran to her, grabbed her, held her tight, grabbed the rope, and let it pull them up and away and away and

 

Jeremy gasped awake. He found himself on the gross, sticky floor of the bathroom, but he didn’t fucking care.

 

Christine was still there. 

 

She was waking up.

 

He leaned over her, cautiously patting her cheek to help wake her up.

 

Her eyes flickered open, and the glow was gone.

 

She sat up slowly, rubbing her temples, and Jeremy couldn’t help but tackle her in a hug.

 

She nearly hit her head on the ground again, but a quick save by Jeremy’s hand prevented that.

 

“Jeremy... did you...”

 

“I think I deactivated it.”

 

“You pulled me up from the... the dungeon. The Playbills..”

 

“They were painted over,” they both finished.

 

She wrapped her arms around Jeremy to reciprocate the hug. Her shoulders went up, and she shook in his embrace, beginning to cry.

 

Hey, truth be told, he was crying too. But here was Christine, fresh from something probably traumatic. Fuck his tear ducts, this was about her.

 

“The first moments... it was so awful,” Christine choked out between sobs. “It hurt, blinding white pain, it hurt so bad, and then... it kept hurting. It started to paint over you, and Jenna, and Brooke, Michael, Rich, everyone, and musicals and my family and then it locked me up and made me watch while it did terrible, terrible things.”

 

Jeremy didn’t say anything, but he began to rub her back, and that seemed to be enough.

 

“It was awful. I don’t want that thing back in my brain ever again.”

 

He held Christine as she leaned into the hug, rubbing her back, as she cried and cried. Finally, her sobs subsided, and she sat up, rubbing her eyes.

 

“Can you tell me what happened? I know that I drank the weird soda and then everything hurt, but I don’t remember if you or anyone else had it.”

 

Jeremy scrambled for words. He knew exactly who had had a SKIP, but he didn’t know if the others were free or not-

 

“The others are free. The antidote weakened them, and then pulling Christine out is what broke them. They’re massively powerful, but a single one going out still means that they all go.”

 

Jeremy relayed that information to her, and then that he hadn’t had one, but somehow, Rich’s SQUIP had managed to briefly overpower his SKIP and latch onto the existing hardware from his SQUIP to activate there. And then, the antidote ingredients.

 

“Root beer Kool-Aid? I didn’t even know that existed! It sounds delicious.”

 

Jeremy made a gagging noise. “It was discontinued in the 70s. It was rock solid in the package and it had dead bugs.

 

“Ew.” Christine made a gagging noise of agreement to punctuate her statement. Then, “Do you know where the others are? They should probably know what happened.”

 

“The others are in class. They’ll be out at the next bell. At precisely 13:48:23 they’ll all be in one spot in the halls, you can signal vocally to them that you’re there, to follow you to the courtyard.”

 

Jeremy repeated that to Christine, who slowly nodded.

 

“I know it probably wouldn’t be a super great idea to interrupt class to get everyone individually to cut it, especially so openly, but still. If their experience was anything like mine, I’d hate to be in math and not be able to focus at all and also be dealing with that.” Christine began to flap her arms nervously. “Having to know you were locked up in a dungeon in your own brain but still have to listen to Mrs. Perez drone on about defining a lim-“

 

Jeremy squeezed Christine’s wrist. She always liked pressure stims, and squeezing her wrist at moments like this seemed to always bring her back to Earth. And, luckily, it still worked.

 

“Hey. We can’t really do anything right now. Nobody’s in the same class, by the time we got everyone out we could’ve just waited to when they’ll all be in the hall. But it’s okay. They’ll all be okay, and so will you.”

 

Christine hesitated before loosely wrapping her arms back around Jeremy.

 

“I just wish we could do more.”

 

“I do too.”

 

They stayed there, for god only knows how long, until finally, Judy told him that now was the most optimal time to go, judging by his current energy, mood, and the time.

 

Christine, however, had fallen asleep on his shoulder.

 

He really hated to wake her. She needed the rest, badly. After his SQUIP had been deactivated, he’d done almost nothing but sleep in the hospital. He had been exhausted to his core.

 

And he couldn’t even imagine, what it was like, after being physically... mentally pulled from the grasp of a supercomputer hivemind. As it was, he had a raging headache.

 

But they needed to go.

 

So, reluctantly, he carefully, gently, shook Christine by the shoulder.

 

She woke up almost immediately, stretching her arms and then using them to rub her eyes.

 

“We’ve gotta go find the others now,” Jeremy said, in a low, quiet voice.

 

Christine nodded blearily, and Jeremy used the bar on the wall to pull himself up, then helped her up.

 

Together, they walked, silently, out of the boy’s bathroom, and walked until Judy said they were at the right spot.

 

The bell rang, kids flooded in, and then, finally, Jeremy could make out things like Michael’s hoodie, Chloe’s white candy-printed cardigan, Jenna’s loud, puffy neon pink, yellow, orange, green leopard print sweater, Brooke’s yellow cardigan, Jake’s red letter jacket, and Rich’s camo jacket, all at once.

 

“Guys!” Christine yelled, shrill.

 

More than six heads turned, but all of the important ones were included, and the unimportant ones lost interest and turned away quickly enough.

 

“The courtyard! Meet us in the courtyard!”

 

Brooke swam through the sea of bodies and grabbed onto Jeremy’s shoulder, panting. She was sweating heavily, and she looked bewildered.

 

“Oh my lord, Brooke, what’s wrong? Jeremy, help me get her cardigan off,” Christine said quickly.

 

Jeremy gently pulled off the long contraption off of her, momentarily ignoring her self harm scars, and Brooke didn’t protest.

 

“I don’t remember anything after Michael bringing in the Beverly Cleary soda. What happened after? What happened after?”

 

They gently lead her to the courtyard where most everyone was already waiting, and Chloe and Michael joined them soon enough after.

 

Unlike Christine, they didn’t have any memories of the SKIP.

 

So, there was a lot of explaining, of Jeremy and Christine helping to fill in the gaps.

 

And they all cried, and hugged, but everything was okay now.

 

Jeremy returned home feeling... good. With a bottle of Mountain Dew Red, to shut off the SQUIP now that it’s job was done.

 

Just as he was about to tip his head back and drink it, Judy’s voice chimed in.

 

“We’re not quite done yet, Jeremy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dun dun dun


End file.
